A Song From the Dark
by Varigos D. Vastitas
Summary: A new land, filled with whisperings of the dead rising and of treacherous queens. Old legends marching from a frozen waste. A war between mislead men who desire an empty crown. A warrior who emerges from a cursed land, who escaped a cycle of endless misery and torment. He comes to stop the threat of a new cycle starting as the souls of Westeros are led astray by the dark...
1. A new player

If you're reading this then I suppose you want to hear about the war of the five kings, and the return of the House Targarian correct?

Most won't hear the tale correctly, listening to stories and half truths told by drunken slobs that had never seen a battle in their life. I don't know the history that came before, only what I saw and heard. The fights I experienced, the people I met, and the things I did along the way. If you don't care to hear the tale, then fuck off.

Anyways.

My part in the war began when I first met Eddard Stark, long ago, deep in the dark depths of the Winterfell crypts. The poor bastard didn't deserve the end he received, especially not for the reasons he did.

I do not remember how I emerged from the fires, only that the result was me tumbling out of the flames onto the cold and wet floors of the crypt. I groaned, rolling on the floor made dizzy and sick by whatever force had pulled me from Drangleic. The last thing I could remember is sitting upon the Throne of Want, and the stone slabs sealing me in to begin the cycle again. I don't know what changed and stopped the process, but I would be damned if I said I wasn't grateful when I woke up somewhere besides the empty cavern of the Things Betwixt.

The grinding of steel being drawn from the sheathe was my only warning. My blade was in my hand as if placed by magic, barring the foreign steel's path to my skull. A ringing of metal on metal and the tremble of conflict ran across my palm, and I swung wildly. My swing was unfocused, my disorganized mind unable to properly aim. I heard the swirl of air as my blade missed it's mark. My attacker wasn't as off target, the sting of a blade's edge nicked at my arm. It was a shallow cut, but allowed my foe to make a second strike. He slapped me alongside my head with a massive blade, a greatsword from the feel of it, and the blow knocked me off my feet and into a wall.

As I lat there on the cold stone of the tomb, my head spinning like I had just been struck about by a giant's mace, I felt the press of a sword point upon my throat. Even knowing that something was different, that something had changed, I expected the familiar sensation of a sword to pierce my throat for what seemed like the thousandth time of my existence and instead I heard the deep growl of a natural-born leader.

"Who are you?" he questioned, little more than an outline to my eyes, "and how did you get in here?" he added.

I dared not move, instead trying to clear my spinning eyes and scrambled brains with will alone, "You're not hollow are you?" I had asked in return.

"Answer my question." My captor commanded. I felt the edge of his blade cut into the flesh of my neck.

"I don't know how I got here." I told him honestly, "Last I knew I was at the castle. I was at rest and then..."

The edge pressed in again, "Then... what? I saw you appear in a burst of flame, coming from my sister's memorial pyre."

"I must have traveled here instead by accident!" I spat back, annoyed, "Either let me up to clear my eyes and gather my thoughts or kill me already and I will just come again later."

The point of the sword was removed, and I could hear the disbelief in the man's voice, "And just how are supposed to come back if you are long dead and cold?"

I stood, my legs still feeling weak from whatever had gone wrong with the traveling magic of the bonfire. "Death has never stopped me for more than a moment." I said wiping my eyes, "How do you not know about the undead?"

The sword point returned, this time over my heart, and this time I could see the main who kept his blade trained on me. His hair was long and brown, with an unshaven and rugged beard. His eyes were somewhat sunken and weary, but as he stared at my face I could see a lethal sharpness to them. I knew he wouldn't hesitate to kill me if needed. The man's voice was steel, "You are not mindless nor blue eyed." he observed, "You cannot be a servant of the white walkers."

"What nonsense are you talking about? What does blue eyes have to do with going hollow?"

The man frowned, "What do you mean by 'hollow'? Is it some sort of sickness?" he questioned, sword still gripped in his hand.

I still recall the shock I felt at those words. The curse had been all I knew for so long, that and fighting. "Do you not know of the curse? The Darksign? How do you not know of these things?" I yelled at him, desperate for answers.

"What curse?!" he yelled back, enraged. The words echoed in the chamber.

I tugged down the collar of my armor, pushing aside the heavy leather and furs, exposing a black scar on the skin of my neck in the shape of a perfect circle. "This is the Darksign!" I stated bitterly, "The mark of my burden, the curse! This marks me as what I am, an undead!" I ended up bellowing at the end.

I must have made a fearful sight, the man before me faltered for a moment. "That looks like a brand, but it appears to have healed smooth..." he murmured.

"You have eyes." I pointed out bitterly, "Now who are you and where am I?" I questioned.

The Man looked at me, clearly annoyed, but I was too worked up to care. "I am Lord Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell., and you are in the Crypts beneath it." He answered.

"Where is Winterfell? How far is it from the Isle of Dranglaic?"

Stark's frown returned, "Dranglaic? That's a tale from the Iron Islands, unless I miss my guess. I remember some of the eldest tell stories of an Iron Keep hidden by a mountain filled with molten rock."

I snorted, holding back a hollow laugh, "I've been there, fought there, and died there more times than I can count. I tell you now, it is no legend. It is a cursed land, one filled with monsters and demons and cursed beings aplenty."

"Prove it." he challenged calmly.

"How? I doubt you know how to traverse using the flames!"

"You claim to be undead, surely your appearance should have some marking to reflect that."

"Just don't attack me." I asked, sighing. I knew there was one guaranteed way to prove my claim. With calm and patience I wasn't really feeling I removed my mask and cowl to reveal my face and head. Next, I pulled off my steel gauntlet, plucking a silver band embedded with four tiny yellow gems from the middle finger of my left hand.

At once Eddard Stark gasped, "By the gods..." he whispered, horrified, "What foul magic is this?"

My once glowing healthy skin had become a mix of ashen gray and mottled green, my golden orange hair had become absent or long, white, and gray. The moment the ring was off my finger my living looks faded away, revealing my true appearance as a cursed immortal.

"This is my curse Stark." I spat, disgusted at his expression as much as he was disgusted with my looks. "I cannot die. Each time I do, I revive at a bonfire with a little more of myself taken away."

Stark was silent for a time before he finally asked, "How did you look so alive a moment ago?"

I held up the ring I pulled from my fingers, letting its yellow jewels shine in the torchlight. "This is the ring of the dead. As long as I wear it, I will appear human. As alive and well as I did before the curse claimed me." I explained.

He didn't take the ring from my fingers, I could see the fear and uncertainty in his eyes. "So what do you plan to do now that you're here?" the lord asked cautiously.

"I plan to go back to Drangleic." I stated, "Where is the fire you said I came from?"

"Its over here." He pointed at a familiar sight in front of a statue. A pile of unburning bones, sheathed in flames, with an upright sword piercing the pile at its center. It sat in a great steel basin as a shrine of sorts.

I looked at the flames, mildly perplexed, "You claim to know nothing of the undead curse but this a bonfire... This is what binds me to my endless life." I stated.

Stark eyed the bonfire with unease, "These are the remains of Rhaegar Targaryen and the monster's sword burned in tribute to My sister, whom he unjustly slaughtered." He explained, "You mean to say this flame keeps you alive? How?"

I looked at the bones, the pale orange flames, and listened keenly to the crackling noises it made. The heat of the flames caused me to shudder from a deep spiritual pleasure, "How long ago was this flame lit?" I asked softly, staring deep into the heart of the flames.

It was Stark's silence that finally allowed me to pull my eyes from the flame. I watched Eddard Stark's face as it shifted across a variety of emotions. First a pause of thought, then paled shock, and finally realization. "Seven and Ten years... It has been Seven and Ten years since I last saw the fire kindled, and even then, it was not needed..."

"It is a bonfire." I insisted, "The one you named? Rhaegar. He must have been undead. A Hollow like myself. The bones of an undead are what is required to make a bonfire like this."

Stark's grip tightened around his still drawn sword, "Is there any chance he will rise again?" he asked.

I shook my head, "Not that I am aware of. Without having touched a bonfire, the curse can only revive him if he is still whole." I explained.

"And if he had touched a bonfire?" Stark pressed, voice urgent.

"Then the bones would not exist." I told him, "When an undead passes that is touched by the bonfire, they fade away, becoming little more than smoke and vapor."

Stark's expression was grave, and begging to unnerve me. "How do you kill an undead, touched by your bonfires?" he questioned.

I was suspicious at once, and slowly my hand shifted to my favorite sword. "I thought you said you did not know of the curse. Why would you want to know how to slay the undead?" I asked calmly.

Stark was open and honest about it, more blunt than I was expecting, "There are Targaryen survivors out there in the world, any one of them could be cursed with this 'Darksign' of yours. The last Targaryen king was mad, and was well known for his obsession with flames."

"Sounds like an undead on his way to becoming fully hollowed." I stated dryly.

"Exactly! The mad king may have been afflicted by your curse, and if his son was too-"

"Then his children or others may be as well." I finished. In my head, I was swearing up a storm across the ages. I had seen what the spread of the curse could do. I traveled the ruins of at least four kingdoms that had fallen pray to the curse. I had no desire to see any other land become another Drangleic.

I could see Lord Stark's unfocused eyes staring at me. His mind was a flurry of thought as he pondered the revelation I laid before him.

"Oscar."

The name snapped Stark out of his thoughts, "What?" he asked taken aback

"My name is Oscar. Oscar of Drangleic." I told him again.

"I suppose I should know how to address you." the lord mused with stale humor.

"Is there any place that we can continue our talks?" I asked, "Not meaning to offend or presume, but if you're a lord and this area is in fact civilized then I would like to have something I haven't done in quite some time."

The lord Stark looked at me with curiosity, "And what is that?"

"A bath."

It had been ages since I heard such laughter.

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Let me tell you, after centuries of wandering muck filled caverns, pitch pot loaded royal tombs, and ruined castles... a hot bath is better than fighting, food, or sex.

Still trading minor details of life, lord Stark showed me to one of his servants, introducing me as something called a 'sellsword' and bidding her to bring me to the baths. I spent two candles worth of time in the hot waters. The woman serving me had to add fresh water to the bath twice during my stay. After purging decades of filth from my body and bones, I finally mustered the will to meet with lord stark a second time.

I gathered my belongings, ensuing that every precious item was still present before I left the room. I kept some things, like my weapons, around because of necessity. Others, like my stash of soulgems, I kept because they were useful. If my journeys across Drangleic taught me anything it was this: Expect nothing, and prepare for everything.

I pulled my armor on slowly, not exactly eager to wear it again after having worn it for longer than most men live. It was a mismatched set of sorts. To protect my head I wore a two piece set comprised of a penal mask I took from the corpse of a monster called the lost sinner, I covered the rest with a Black hood gifted to me by a fellow traveler. The chest piece was part of black leather 'Llewellyn' armor, a gift from a ghost of all things. The armor covering my hands and wrists was another two-piece I strapped together from arm bands worn by a lion garbed mage and the armored gauntlets of a royal aegis named Velstadt. In comparison, my trousers were little more than heavy leathers that I got from a cartographer.

I liked to think that the combined image was rather impressive. It was lightweight, let me move freely, and most importantly, covered me from the filth that I usually found myself rolling in to dodge some attack or another.

The weapons were strapped onto their usual positions. The various pouches containing my tools or medicines placed into their familiar spots. With one bath the Lord of Winterfell had won my gratitude, but he was still miles from earning my trust.

Winterfell was blanked with a stiff chill, something that I was reminded of the moment I stepped into the halls. The servant girl escorted me, leading the way as I followed from behind. The chat in the crypts was still on my mind. I had to wonder about the possibilities. Was I in a new kingdom about to suffer a plague of the undead?

I didn't like the thought.

Lord Stark was in his main hall of the castle, siting behind a long oak table. Beside him sat a distinguished looking redheaded woman, and several children of various ages were seated along the table. " _No doubt his family._ " was my first thought.

Eddard Stark stood, gesturing to welcome me into his hall. "Welcome, Oscar of Drangleic," He called out, "Come, have a seat and a cup of wine." I couldn't help the grin that crossed my lips. Keep in mind, the last sip of wine to cross my lips had been before the curse. I only had the memory of a memory of the taste.

I sat in the offered chair across from my newest friend, taking a bountiful gulp from the cup placed in my hand. I shivered at the taste of sweet and chilled liquid. "I do believe that we are in for a long and fruitful friendship, Lord Stark." I said respectfully.

The children eyed my garb and weapons with interests. What looked to be the second youngest son had a question that he couldn't hold back. "Why do you carry so many weapons? Most fighters carry a sword or two and a dagger."

Still hidden behind my mask, I smiled. "It helps to prepare for anything." I told him. "You never know what threat you may encounter one day."

A young man in light armor scowled at me, from his soft looks and brown hair I could tell at once that he was no son of Stark, "You don't look like you could use any of those weapons properly." he stated arrogantly, "That mace you carry looks too frail, it even has a bell inside it!"

I pulled the weapon in question from my hip, "Boy, what's your name?"

"Theon Greyjoy." He said the name like he expected me to bow. Pity for him I didn't know the name, nor did I give a damn.

"Well then boy," I said, "This is the mace of the Insolent, and I suspect that it is far too heavy for your arms to lift." To illustrate the point I let the mace lay on the floor with the heavy clattering of metal on stone.

As I expected Theon did not resist the challenge, moving forward to grasp the handle with one hand and failing to lift it. "How is it so heavy?" he asked, voice hinting his amazement. Even under his strongest pull, the weapon would barely move.

"Layered and folded steel." I said, raising the weapon easily. "It was four stones heavy when I found it, but since then I've been layering it with metals to reinforce it." My grin held no ill will in it, but Theon scowled with wounded pride nonetheless.

The second smallest had another question, "Do you name all your weapons?" he asked. I looked at Eddard, curious to his reaction. He nodded.

"All five have names to them." I stood, moving to an empty space on the table. I placed the mace on the table, "This is the Mace of the Insolent." Next I pulled my straight sword from its sheath on my hip. "This is Blue Flame." The sword had a soft blue glow to it in the torchlight.

"What about the others?" the same lordling from before asked eager.

I lay my shield, bow and greatsword on the table. I kept the greatsword in its sheathe. "The Shield is the slumbering dragon. The Bow is called the Bow of Want, and the greatsword is called the Ruler's Sword."

The four youngest looked at my odd assortment of arms with open interest. Two boys and two girls crowded, examining the smooth carvings on my shield or the awkward bell attached to the bow. The eldest of the group looked from a difference, their own eyes wandering the weapons with feigned disinterest. I could see the two boys with black hair eyeing the greatsword with greater interest than in the others.

The Lord Stark grasped hold of the handle of Ruler's Sword. "May I?" he asked.

"If you'd like." I told him.

Eddard Stark pulled the blade from its sheathe with experienced skill, the silver sword instantly reflecting the torchlight as if it was lit ablaze itself. "Magnificent." he murmured, "This looks like Valyrian steel!"

"It is made from twinkling titanite and petrified dragon bone." I told him. I never bothered ask about Valyrian steel, something that I would regret later on.

"Dragon bone?" Theon opened his mouth again, "Where did you find dragon bones?"

I gave him an exasperated look, "They are not uncommon where I came from." I stated, I purposefully did not clarify if I meant dragons or the bones. "Any more questions, or can I put my weapons away?"

The youngest girl was the next to speak, "Why does your sword look blue?" she was pointing at Blue Flame.

I remember my eyebrows arching in surprise, "A question for a question then, what is your name little one?" I asked politely.

"Arya Stark." she replied.

I nodded, "Well then little Arya." I leaned forward like I was telling a great secret. "Blue Flame can be used to cast great spells when held by one who knows magic."

Most of them scoffed, but Both Arya and her father looked at me with keen interest as I took another gulp from my cup.

"Magic isn't real." The eldest redhead denied.

I gave my critic an amused look, "My lady, trust me when I say I can make great bursts of fire, waves of poison, or even arrows forged from souls if I so wished." I told her honestly. Eddard was watching me carefully at that moment. I knew he suspected I wasn't just telling tall tales.

"Prove it." Arya challenged.

I looked at Lord Stark, grinning with amusement. I wondered how these folk would take to the sight of a pyromancy flame. "May I?" I asked, mimicking the lords words from earlier.

Lord Stark nodded, and I held up my left hand.

Sitting in my palm was a bright red flame the size of an apple, floating freely.

The room went silent, amazed disbelief was written on each of their faces.

The Lord of Winterfell was less shocked than the rest, having seen my true face in the Crypts. He looked at me, once more deep in thought. "What other magics can you do?" he asked.

I shrugged, "I only have the knowledge and means to cast some spells." I told him, being vague out of caution, " I can make healing lights, magical arrows, blasts of fire and poison and other spells."

The redhead asked, "Why are you a Sellsword with such talents?"

"Pardon my asking, but who are you?" Some of the children frowned at my question, obviously annoyed by it.

"I am Lady Catelyn Stark." She told me coldly.

"Pardon my lady, but I am unfamiliar with these lands and its people." I told her, I was still unsure of the title I was given and thus answered by guessing by its meaning, "To answer your question, I am a sellsword by necessity. I come from an Island kingdom. I left after the fall of the fourth king, setting sail looking for a new life. My ship sank and I became lost wandering the land until arrived here in Winterfell."

"How does one travel by sea and end up lost in the North?" Lady Catelyn asked. I could tell by the look in her eyes and the tone of voice that my tale raised many questions.

"The North? I do not understand." I told her.

"Winterfell is the capital of the northern lands. You are in Westeros, also known as the seven kingdoms." she explained.

"Well, I didn't know that." I told her bluntly.

I was never one for courtly curtsy. It showed.

"How can you be uneducated but know magic?" Theon asked. By this point he was beginning to annoy me.

"I am not uneducated, brat." I scolded, "Not knowing the geography of a foreign country doesn't make me uneducated, but not knowing to be respectful to your father's guest does make you uneducated." Theon's scowl deepened, but he didn't lash out like I expected. I knew at that moment that the boy had more bark than bite.

"He's not my father."

"More's the pity, he might have taught you better manners."

"Have you any more surprises, Oscar of Drangleic?" Lady Stark asked me.

"I am stronger than any man you know, and it is not skill in combat that is needed to bring me down, but numbers." I told her, "There is not a man alive that can defeat me in single combat." I neglected the number of undead who had done just that. Or the monsters. Or the demons. Or the Ancient Dragon.

Stupid flaming lizard.

The Lady's eyes bore down on me, I had done something to raise her suspicions but to this day I don't know what. "If that is the case, then why are you here? What do you want?" she questioned.

I faltered. The question is something I have wondered for a long, long time. I journeyed to Drangleic long ago to break the curse, only to learn to live with it as I traveled those hellish lands. The unexpected question made me pause, it always does. "I don't know." I told her slowly, honestly, "I suppose if you would have me, I would serve your family. Your husband has welcomed me in, and offered comfort I haven't known in years. I cannot serve a king I do not know, nor do I wish to wander the roads looking for a fight like some bandit." I faced Eddard Stark, "But I think... I think I could serve you... For a time at least."

If any look could accurately describe the look on Eddard Stark's face I suppose it would be called gratitude.

"Well said, Oscar of Drangleic." he remarked.

"So, should I call Winterfell home, or should I make my way to another settlement?" I asked.

"Unless any of my family can think of a reason we shouldn't, I say you are more than welcome at Winterfell." he told me honestly.

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It was nighttime before the second youngest Stark boy showed up again.

Somehow, someway the boy had climbed the castle walls, sneaking into the room I was given. Apparently the slick nature of Winterfell's stone walls were not enough to dissuade him from scaling their heights. To this day I'm not sure how the brat found me, but I do remember the eager look in his eyes as he stared down at me from the window's edge.

"What's your name boy?" I asked him softly.

"Bran." He replied.

"So master Bran, what are you doing here?"

"Can you show me more magic?" He asked eagerly.

I sighed, the boy was too...innocent, he didn't know the cost or understand how you gain the powers, he just wanted to see it. He reminded me of puppies that discovered a new toy. I suppose his reaction would be cute to some but to me it was just annoying.

"Boy," I growled, "you should be in bed. I'm not getting into trouble with your father because you want to see something new."

Bran's expression was disheartened, but there was still a determined look in his eye. "You have something better to do?" He asked smartly, "I'm already going to be in trouble for being out of bed, why can't I see some magic?"

I rolled my eyes and pathetic attempt to persuade me, "do you really think I'm going to risk trouble with my new Lord just to entertain you?" I asked with an eyebrow raised.

"Are you going to risk upsetting your new lord's son to prevent a chance of other trouble?" he said daringly.

I laughed, caught of guard by his rebuttal, "Well said lordling. Fine, you may ask for one display of magic. But choose wisely."

"I want to see the magical arrows."

I drew Blue Flame, "Move away from the window then."

The boy, Bran, shook his head, "Not here." he said, "We can use the targets where my brothers and I practice."

The boy led me to a small courtyard beside the castle proper that had numerous targets and weapons racks. An outdoor training hall of sorts. Bran pointed at the archery targets and repeated his request, "Can you hit one of those with your spell?"

I grinned, "A child could strike that." I held Blue Flame to my face, as the sound of displaced air emanated from the glowing blue blade. I pointed the blade at the center target and the sound like the cry of an enormous bird came forth as well as a ray of piercing blue.

A needle like lance of cerulean power struck the target, shattering it upon impact and searing the straw and cloth that covered it. "The Great Heavy Soul Arrow, my teacher once called it." I told him.

Bran looked at me with amazement and awe. "Can you teach me that?" he asked, full of excitement.

The child's enthusiasm was contagious, I had spent too many ages in Drangleic alongside the downtrodden and hopeless. Compared to my old friends and their depressing attitudes, the boy's cheer was a bright star."Perhaps one day," I answered, "But right now you are far too young to handle, much less need, such a spell."

"Please?" He begged, "I swear to be a good student!"

I smiled, unseen behind my hooded mask, "That's not the only problem child. I would need to make you a catalyst to cast the spell with, and you would need to strengthen your soul before you could handle any spell at all, much less a soul arrow of that power."

I could see the disappointment on his face. "Go to bed child, speak to me tomorrow. Depending on what your father thinks of the idea, I see no harm is teaching his children of the soul arts." It was a lie, but there was little reason to tell him as such.

The young boy returned to the castle and hopefully to his room. As I watched him go I wondered what I was going to do now, I wanted to know more of the white walkers that Eddard Stark had told me of. I returned to the castle interior, searching for Lord Stark and hoping the hour wasn't too late. I may not need sleep but I was certain he would.

Despite the chill of seasonal air, the halls of Winterfell were far more comfortable than any I had found in Drangleic. Pitch capped torches kept the halls lit and kept the coldest winds from freezing the halls. It was more of a comfort than I had seen in many years, having grown used to resting beside a bonfire at my worst moments and little else.

It took some time to traverse the halls, until finally a maid was kind enough to point the way. The Lord's bedchambers were in the upper levels of the castle, and the door slightly ajar. I could hear Eddard speaking to his wife inside.

"...You know nothing of him! Apart from displays of his magic there is no proof of his stories! I know you feel loyalty to Robert and seek to help him, but you're trusting a stranger with tales of undead curses!"

"You have yet to see his face. His true face. He bears a ring that hides his dead looks with magic."

"You say you met him in the crypts, those tunnels are dark, it was a trick of the torchlight. Nothing more."

"You cannot explain it all away. What about the fire he conjured in his hand? Can you explain what trick that would allow a man to create a naked flame that floats above his flesh?"

I could hear the stubbornness in her voice, "It is a trick. It has to be. The possibility that those old legends are true is too wild to be considered, but to say that there is a different curse that is out there and that the mad king may have been under its sway is as inconceivable as it is intolerable."

"And if he is telling the truth? What if he is key in stopping a new plague from taking the Seven Kingdoms? Even then, do you want someone of Oscar's make wandering the Kingdoms? What could come about if he makes his way to the Iron Islands seeking the source of the legends we spoke of? Or worse yet he makes his way to Kings Landing to become a pawn of the lords of court..."

I knocked loudly upon Eddard's door to announce my presence, cutting off their conversation.

"Who is it?" he asked.

"Oscar of Drangleic, my lord. I wish to finish our talks from this morning." I called through the wall.

"You may enter." Neither Eddard nor Catelyn seemed pleased to see me. They were still fully garbed to my relief. "You really wish to continue the conversation now?" he questioned, meaning the late hour.

"You're both loud enough to be heard in the halls." I looked at Catelyn, "And it seems your wife doesn't believe my tales."

Catelyn glared, "It is rude to listen to conversation behind closed doors." she stated.

"How rude is it to talk about a guest in your home behind their backs." I returned, "But that is a different matter. I need to know more about the monsters you spoke of before. The 'white walkers'. Can you tell me more about them?"

"The white walkers are a race of cold monsters that came from the north, beyond the wall eight thousand years ago." Eddard began, "The old tales say they killed all in their path, and those that fell to their blades of ice became wights. The undead in service to the walkers."

"How were they stopped?" This didn't sound like how the kingdom of Drangleic fell, Eleum Loyce perhaps, but either way an army of undead was a fearful thought.

"Legends say that it was the children of the forest who helped the most, using magic and weapons made of dragon glass to slay the walkers. The first men supplied the army, the children of the forest supplied the weapons. Together they pushed the walkers and their army of the dead back to the north then created the wall to keep them back."

"Has there been any sign of the walkers since?" I asked insistently, "Sightings of the Wights? Anything at all?"

Eddard shook his head, "Nothing. Most think that even if the legends are true that the walkers all died. It has been thousands of years since the wall was raised after all."

I thought on it. Eight thousand years was a long time, perhaps it was not a pressing matter at all. "I suppose that the two of you have your own questions for me then?"

Given the opportunity, Catelyn's curiosity wouldn't be denied. "My husband says that your real face is hidden under an illusion. I want to see it before I believe anything else."

I sighed, annoyed but understanding. I pulled off my mask, hood, and gauntlet. "I told your husband this as well, but I am not a pretty sight." I pulled the ring from my finger again, revealing the scarred and decayed appearance for the second time in a day.

"By the old gods and the new..." Catelyn gasped, horrified. She took a step back from me, as if I were a monster poised to strike.

I replaced the ring with a grimace, reminded once more of how wrong my life was. "Believe me now?" I asked, somewhat bitterly.

"How did you come to be cursed is such a way?" she asked me.

"Truth be told? I do not remember. I remember a pain where the mark was made, so great it felt like a poisonous flame was placed inside me. When I awoke, the mark was there, and I had begun hollowing. I fled from my home before the curse could take hold and I lost everything."

"Do you have family? Friends, perhaps?" Eddard asked me.

"If I do, I have no memory of them any longer."

"How is that possible?" My new lord asked, "Surely you remember something of them? Or perhaps a trinket to remind you of those you hold dear?"

"It is the cost of the curse." I explained. "No matter how many times you kill me, I will revive from the bonfire as whole and healthy as ever. The cost is that with each death, the curse progresses a little more taking with it my memories and health. Without a means of restoration those cursed will become hollow. Husks of their former selves without memory, who attack all things living that they encounter."

"So... The reason you look like that behind the ring's illusion is that you've run out of your means to restore yourself?"

I looked at the floor. "No. I have in my possession an... artifact... that can hold the curse at bay indefinitely. As long as I wear it the curse will restore me from death but take nothing more from me. Another of the rings I wear halts the progression of the curse as well, but only after it has progressed so far. I choose to stay like this as a form of... penitence I suppose."

"Penitence for what? What crime did you commit?" Lady Catelyn asked, her eyes narrowed with a damning accusation.

"A... friend... of mine was succumbing to the curse. She had forgotten all but her name and her goal, to find her brother. She was a knight, one who helped me survive a dozen trials beforehand. She was a wretch at the time I found her last, the curse had taken everything it could from her, and she was almost completely hollow."

I cast my eyes to the floor of the room, "I killed her, but not before she... Before her mind was lost. I intended for my strike to behead her and spare her, but the swing missed as the life faded from her eyes and a hollow swung her sword at me in her place. My next cut did not fail and she died before the curse could bind her forever."

"I had a portion of the medicine we used to restore ourselves at the time, human effigies we call them. I had but one left. I chose to end her misery rather than prolong it, and to atone for my sin I have allowed the curse to progress this far."

I know it was in my head, but I could feel their eyes upon me as they judged me.

Finally, after an age of thought, Eddard told me, "I cannot forgive you." I felt condemned, until he added, "But. I am sure your friend doesn't blame you either."

I nodded, having heard the words from other mouths before. "You might be right, but until I have a need to banish it I'd prefer to suffer under the curse for now. It reminds me of the monster I have the potential to become."

Catelyn was still staring me down, "What do you intend to do now that you are in Westeros?"

"I am unsure." I stated honestly, "I want to investigate these tales of undead in the north... Despite knowing many tales of Drangleic and explored most if not all its ruins, I do not know how the curse took hold on the land. I am afraid that I have arrived before the curse has taken root, and that it is here preparing to strike."

"You make it sound as if this curse is alive." Lady Stark noted.

"It is like a living plague. It infects the land, its people, and is born from the dark. Once it takes a hold of a land there is no escape, no cure to stop it from ravaging everything. The world changes, monsters are born, the dead rise to kill the living and time ceases to flow in the natural order. The Kingdom of Drangleic and those that came before all thought to fight the curse, but all fell to it in the end."

"And what do you think you can do about it?" she questioned.

"I know how to permanently kill those touched by the darksign, even if touched by the bonfires. I have slain those that spread the curse, and I will do the same here. If the undead are to take root in these lands they will have a leader. They always do."

"What can lead such creatures?" Eddard wondered, pouring himself some wine to ease his unnerved stomach. "What type of monster could lead the evils you describe?"

"A fragment from the Father of the Abyss." I told them, "Someone who appears human, but with the darkest of natures. Not necessarily evil, but with a feeling about them. Something wrong in the world, something that fills you with disgust with their very presence."

"You've met these creatures before?" Catelyn asked me.

I nodded, somber from the memories. "I met four of them. Alsanna, the silent Oracle. Nadalia, the bride of ash. Nashandra, queen of Drangleic. Elana, the Squalid Queen."

"What became of them?"

"I collected the fragments of Nadalia after killing her ashen idols, severed Elana's head from her shoulders and ran a blessed spear into Nashandra's black heart."

Eddard noticed that I did not state the fate of one name, "What about Alsanna?"

"Last I saw of her she was still vigilant over her frozen kingdom, keeping the kingdom covered in ice by producing an enchanted blizzard. She stands vigil over a pit, leading into the old chaos."

"What is the old chaos?"

"Imagine a pit filled with molten rock and fire, flowing about you in a swirl of never ending rivers. Now, imagine a series of great tree branches coming from the roof of the pit and dipping into those rivers but never burning. That is the old chaos. It is guarded by the burnt hollows that were once Eleum Loyce's elite knights, they come from a series of stone arches that the chaos fills with magic, forcefully raising them again and again to protect it."

"And this Oracle guards this pit alone? How does she do it?"

"She is one of the fragments of the abyss, filled with powers of the dark that mankind cannot understand. She has outlived kingdoms, using the same spell to freeze anything that emerges from the Chaos. There are four knights that stand guard with her, cursed ones like me, but prolonged by her magic rather than the curse."

"She can do that? How?"

"The few who have studied it extensively believes the curse comes from the abyss. It stands to reason that her kind would have some control over it."

"How did you defeat them if these fragments are supposed to be so strong? Your weapons? Or your magic perhaps?"

I grimaced, accepting that I was undead was one thing, accepting the secret of my strength was another matter that I had no doubt they would be less welcoming of. "I had aid." I told them, only telling half the story. "Friends who fraught beside me and fell in battle. You should have seen the battle against Nashandra. It was a fight for the ages. Five of us against the witch-queen and her spells. Vengarl with his whirling red blades, Benhart and that massive greatsword of his. Bradley and Ray were members of the old guard, cursed soldiers loyal to the last King, Vendrick." I was cheerful as I recalled their names, but my grin faded quickly.

"Bradley and Ray fell first. Their skill was never the same as ours. They spent all the time guarding the main halls of the old castle out of duty, unlike us who spend our time hunting the monsters of Drangleic. Nashandra's weapon was a scythe made out of flesh and bone and the dark. Her swing cleaved them in two with an unlucky strike."

"Vengarl was next to fall. He was strong enough to block her strikes you see, but muscle is useless against the abyss. She placed her skeleton hand upon his chest, and there was a cloud of darkness and a roar like the sound of thunder. When my vision cleared, his torso was missing, and his swords broken upon the ground."

"I kept my distance after, trying to pierce her body with arrows and spells while Benhart kept her annoyed with that large gemstone he called a sword. His blade was as tall as him, but he moved like the wind, even in his heavy armor. It was thanks to him that we wounded her as much as we did. She summoned a set of black orbs that affected the curse in both of us. The closer we got, the worse our afflictions became. Benhart rotted away like all the time that would ever be aged him at once. It was thanks to the artifact I spoke of that I endured, he dark magic unable to effect me."

"Alone and desperate, I shot the orbs with my own magical arrows, their power breaking them somehow. With no other option, I charged her with the spear I took from the body of an old dragonslayer. The spear was an artifact of some power, filled with the might of a thunderstorm. I stabbed her again and again, forsaking my shield and spell, hoping that the length of my lance would be enough to finally put an end to her. She grabbed me, and held me aloft, intending to end me like she had Vengarl. I shoved the spear into her chest and forced every bit of magical power I had left into the spear. She thrashed about, but I held strong until she lit ablaze from the lightning lance's power. She collapsed to the floor and I rammed the spear into her body again and again until her form faded to nothing."

Lord Stark placed his emptied cup down, his face more than enough to express his disbelief. "Incredible."

"Unbelievable." Lady Catelyn added, her face pale. She stood and walked away from me, as if my presence now unnerved her.

"Looking back, it does seem impossible." I agreed, "I'd think it a lie too if I had not been in the battle and seen the scars." I pulled up the leathers that covered my torso, exposing a jagged scar that was above my left hip. The hand sized scar was made of pale flesh, even over the illusion. As if to emphasize the power of the witch who gave it to me. "She managed to slice me with the tip of her scythe before she grabbed me. The wound was easily healed with magic after she fell, but the witch-queen's mark has remained ever since."

"Surely such a wound was fatal!" Eddard proclaimed, staring at the scar. He cleared his throat, "I understand you revive upon death, but why did your friends not return? Surely the bonfires can revive them too?"

I frowned, and I could feel my face becoming downtrodden. "I don't know. I've lived for a long time, and even though I learned many varieties of magic I haven't learned everything about how the curse works. The best I can guess is that Neshandra's magic ended the curse for them."

"So one of these fragments could end the curse for you?" Eddard asked kindly.

"Perhaps...I've never given it much thought." I laughed morosely. "When I was first afflicted, I despaired and searched for a cure." I explained to the lord and lady, "Now I have the closest thing to a cure, and I don't care to use it. I've grown used to never staying dead, as horrible as that sounds."

Catelyn was looking out a window by this point, facing away from me. "It is late. We should retire for the night, continue this conversation later." she suggested.

I recognized the dismissal for what it was. The way her body moved, it was plain as day that she was having difficulty bearing my presence. "Lady Stark is right." I said, showing the appropriate level of respect. "We can talk later on your request."

I left the room, closing the door behind me. I was not ten steps down the hall before I could hear murmurs of their talk renewing. I stood for a moment, pondering that perhaps leaving Winterfell would be for the best.

I thank the old gods and the new I wasn't stupid enough to make such a hasty decision. Who knows how the House Stark would have turned out.


	2. Blessing the Home

Morning the next day couldn't come fast enough.

I sat through the night patiently in my room, waiting for the dawn to come. In the cursed lands, time moved in odd ways. The days were so long that it felt like the sun would never part, yet certain lands were plagued in eternal night.

When the light of the sun began to creep out onto the rooftops of Winterfell I went to wander again, hoping to find my way back to the training grounds without error. I was in a new land, and while the Starks had shown me great kindness I was not prepared to let my skill with a sword diminish in even the slightest way.

The yard was empty when I arrived, save for a wandering chicken that pecked at the dirt. I drew Blue Flame from its sheathe first, the enchanted blade glowing as always. The blade was as light as a feather in my hands, and swirled and danced with each swing. I favored using her with an upward slash, the move was fatal to many wearing full plate, allowing me to slip her tip beneath the sheets of metal with ease. After a few minutes to loosen my arm and warm my blood, Blue Flame was sheathed and I pulled Ruler's Sword from my back, letting her cover fall to the dirt as I always did.

Where Blue Flame was skill and speed, Ruler's Sword was power and reach. Each swing was slow, but you could hear the air part from its path when she moved. The Sword was heavy, but I had long learned to move her as if she were my arm. I Swung her from my right to the left twice over, spinning in place to add to her force. To finish I lunged, thrusting forward, only to feel a patch of mud take my balance form beneath me. The tip of Ruler bit into a wall, plunging into the stone a finger's length. At once, Ruler's magic went to work scorching the stone black with her unperceivable flames.

"That was amazing..."

I spun in place, my hand on Blue Flame's grip. I recognized the boy at once. Theon. The one who was not Stark's kin but sat at his table. "Boy, what are you doing here?" I asked.

"I heard the sound of your sword swinging." he said honestly, "I came to investigate. I thought someone could have been in trouble."

I made a noise somewhere disbelief and amusement.

"What? You think I'm lying?" he accused, quickly growing red in the face.

I shook my head, putting away my greatsword. "No..." I cleared my throat. "To be honest you were a bit currish last night. Made me think that you were Lord Stark's Ill-nurtured bastard." Theon's expression looked murderous for an instant. "What is the trouble between the two of you?" I asked, sheathing my blades with care.

"I am Lord Stark's _hostage_." he spat with some venom, "I was taken from my father's side eight years ago."

I took a seat on a bench and motioned for Theon to sit. He stood. "What was your father's crime?" I asked.

"My Father rebelled against the Iron Throne, trying to bring back the old way."

"Old way?"

"You pay the Iron price for something. You take what you want. That's why the words of House Grayjoy are 'We do not sow'." He stated with glowing pride in his voice.

I snorted, failing to hold back the laugh that came from the idea. "That's a fool's errand if ever I heard one."

Theon scowled at me with wounded pride. "Are you going to tell me a story of how foolish it was to rebel without resources or numbers as well?"

"No, but I will tell you why your father wouldn't have been a King with his old way for long."

"What do you mean?"

"Use what's between your ears boy. If the old way means you take what you will then who's to say someone won't come along to kill your father for his crown?"

"They wouldn't!" he denied. "That's just not how it is done!"

"Why not?" I asked.

"The people are loyal to him! They ruled the Western lands of Westeros for years because of the old way!"

My eyes bore into his. I wanted him to see the truth of what I was saying. "If there is one thing I have learned in this life boy, it's that people are loyal to themselves most of all. It wouldn't be long before someone wanted more in life and killed your father to take it. By his old way, the man who can take the crown from him could keep it."

Theon looked away, upset by the thought. "Boy, raiding and taking isn't a way to live." I added, "There's not a kingdom in the world that can live without producing something to keep its people fed."

"The Iron Islands can make their own way!" he shouted.

"How so? Did you not tell me that the words of your House is 'we do not sow'? If you sow no crops how are you to eat?"

"...We had Thralls to work the lands." he defended weakly.

I looked at him disapprovingly. "You'd build a land of slaves and think that would end well?" I smiled wickedly at him, "and you called me ignorant last night? If you tried to hold a nation of slaves with an army weak from rebelling it wouldn't be a year before your people had another rebellion on their hands. This one made of slaves and survivors from the first. Your father's plan was ill consieved."

Theon took the seat I had offered, but remained quiet.

"Back to our first words, You say your Lord Stark's hostage... How did that come about? A peace talk of some sort?" I asked.

Theon nodded, I could see him still reeling from the prior revelations. "I was given as a ward for House Stark to ensure my father's obedience. I am his last son."

"What other punishments were applied? I would imagine many were more than annoyed at his actions, did they strip him of his titles and lands? Imprison him for a time?"

"No..." Theon said slowly. "He was allowed to keep his position as long as I was held in exchange."

The knowledge filled me with disgust. "Your father is a monster." I told him bluntly. The statement had Theon's eyes upon me at once. "He tried to establish a land of bandits, without care or concern for his people, and then when he loses he gives up his son to keep what little power he had to begin with? The most rotten fruit in the land wouldn't compare to the rot in your father's heart."

Theon looked at the ground, I pretended to not notice the look on his face. There was no point in rubbing salt in his bleeding pride.

"Why do you have such pride in him?"

"He is... was... my father." Theon said, "I've always felt like an outsider here. Always reminded I wasn't one of them."

I took the opportunity to learn more of my host. "Did Lord Stark mistreat you out of some spite from the rebellion?"

"No. That wasn't what happened at all." Theon told me. "He gave me everything I needed, had me taught and trained alongside all his own children."

"Sounds like Lord Stark is more of a father to you than your own blood."

Theon looked pensive, "Perhaps you're right." he said softly, whispering the words.

I stood, grabbing a straight sword from a nearby stand and handing to Theon handle first. "Come, enough of this dreary talk. I need a good sparing partner."

Theon grinned at the offer, glad to have his mind distracted by the thrill of singing steel.

His opening was obvious, a two handed overhead swing. The blow was powerful, but not enough to budge Blue Flame. Theon's blade was fine steel but brittle compared to my own blade. Caught off guard by my block I rolled around him, an unnecessary move but it allowed me to kick out his legs. As Theon dropped I grabbed his chin and yanked it up and pressed my sword on his throat. "First blood is mine, as is this fight." I said calmly as I released him.

"How did you move so quickly?" Theon asked me, bewildered.

"Practice, experience and great skill." I told him. "Your opening blow was quite good, but you were too easily surprised."

Theon stood, rubbing at his neck. "Do you think you can teach me anything?" he asked.

I shrugged, "I can spare a few words of advice, but the best teacher will always be experience."

"Any words you can spare then?" he pressed, insistent and excited.

"Plenty." I told him. "The best lesson would be to go into battle with no expectations."

"No expectations?"

"Aye, if you don't expect something will happen you'll keep your mind clear. Be less likely to fall to surprises."

"How would that work?"

"Say for example you're walking into an old ruin that is said to be cursed. You travel there as a test of courage, to find proof of the spirit said to haunt the grounds. You go there expecting to see a spirit, and every shadow, gust of wind, and odd noise all alarm you. But if you go in expecting nothing, then you will see everything for what it is."

Theon looked at me impressed, "How is one so youthful so wise? I'd expect words like that to come from master Luwin not someone that looks like they're barely a man."

I admit my response was a bit childish. "I'm older than I look."

Theon's surprise swing almost took me by surprise. This time I rolled aside by necessity. I countered with a flat thrust that he slapped aside in a panic. "Clever!" I called, "But not quick enough!"

I charged him as he swung again, and this time I slapped his sword aside with my empty left hand. I held the tip of Blue Flame over his heart. "And second blood is mine." I said simply.

"Why aren't you taking the fight slower?" Theon asked, "Allow it to last a bit longer, I mean."

"It was the way I learned to fight." I explained, "Strike down each enemy as quick as possible, stay moving, and always pay attention to your surroundings."

I started round three with my favorite upwards slash. Theon stumbled back, tripping over the bench I had sat on earlier. He fell to the dirt and I walked over to calmly place my blade at his chest. "That makes three." I stated.

"You don't fight with honor." He complained, groaning and clutching his sore head.

"Honor only matters to the historians and the dead." I told him, "I would much rather live." I offered him a hand.

Theon took the offered hand, but his displeasure was still open on his face. "Who taught you to fight like this?" he questioned as he rose from the dirt. "Every man I know fights by crossing blades or blocking with shields. You use magic, and fight with such power."

I shrugged, sheathing Blue Flame and returning Ruler's Sword to her proper place on my back. "To speak honestly? I cannot recall who first taught me the ways of the blade." I thought back fondly of my friends as I had journeyed Drangleic with... Other remnants of the cursed lands, who looked for a purpose as much as I. "I learned how to wield a spear from a trickster named Pete. I learned how to swing a greatsword at the side of Benhart... Believe it or not, my skills at blind-fighting actually comes from a peaceful merchant named Vengarl."

Theon struck as my guard was dropped, "Fourth blood is mine!" He yelled, smacking me with the flat side of his blade.

I winced at the pain, turning and scowling at him. "On your guard!" I yelled, tackling myself at him in turn. The boy yelped as he was knocked to the ground, with myself and my armor on top of him.

"Mercy!" he yelped, failing to force me off. I punched him in the guts with a great deal of force, driving the wind from him.

I rolled off, and stumbled over to grab my seat again while feeling the throbbing pain upon my head. "I'll say this much for you boy, you're a quick learner." I pulled my hand back to find some blood upon my glove. "Damn, that was a good cut."

"Thank. You." Theon wheezed, still rolling in the dirt.

I pulled two yellow-white stones from a pocket, tossing one to him before crushing the other in my hand. At once I could feel a gentle warmth, like bright sunlight from a clear sky, cover me as my head would knitted together and healed a thousand fold faster than it would have naturally.

Theon looked at the little rock I threw at him curiously, now rubbing his, no-doubt, bruised chest. "What do I do with this?" He asked.

"Crush it in your hand." I instructed. "There is a powerful magic in that, it will mend whatever wound you might have quicker than you'd think."

Theon obeyed, crushing the rock and gasping from surprised. "That felt... wondrous" he remarked, "Where did you get such a thing?"

"They are called lifegems. A rock made of crystallized souls."

Theon looked ill. "Souls? I just used a soul to heal?"

I rolled my eyes at him. "It is not a living thing you're killing." I told him bluntly. "Don't over think it so much. Absorbing actual souls is another matter entirely."

If he looked ill before, he was horrified now. "Absorbing souls? You mean you know how to take souls?"

Looking back, I suppose I could have said less, but I knew that someone would learn about that trait eventually. "Aye. I can. It is part of the magic that makes me so strong. With each death around me I pull souls to me. It's like an unthinking reflex, I cannot control it nor can I stop it."

Theon looked at me with some fear, some disgust, but a healthy dose of curiosity. "So when someone dies around you, you get stronger? Just like that?"

I shook my head, "No... Give me a moment..." I chose my words carefully. "I suppose I could be compared to a heavy pot, one that is made of thick metal and used to carry ore. Every soul I take in is the ore, but can be used to strengthen me."

"But you said you absorbed the souls? And that made you stronger?"

"I didn't say it made me stronger, you guessed that."

"Your not denying it either!" Theon accused.

"Are all of you in Winterfell so serpent tongued?" I asked, "Or is it just those that associate with Lord Stark?" I sighed, and reached into one of the pouches on my belt. Clasped in my fingers was an old feather from a great bird.

Theon looked at me like he had finally realized I was mad. "Is that a feather?"

I knew I was staring at the feather lovingly, as I did every time it was in my sight. "'Tis a feather given to me by my dearest friend. It took me a lifetime to discover how she used its secrets. The magic of the feather can increase the power of one who has absorbed souls." I explained, "The more potent the souls possessed, the more power the feather can grant. It has a limit to how far it can empower a mere human form, but that limit is far beyond other mortal men."

Theon looked at the feather with disbelief. "You lie." he protested and scoffed. "A little feather cannot grant magical strength. The idea is ridiculous."

"Is there a sword in this training yard you cannot lift?" I challenged, "Or a spear that you have difficulty holding one handed, perhaps?"

"You mean to make me stronger?" he balked, squirming at the idea. I could see his greed, but also his fear at the idea of using a soul to improve himself.

"If it would shut you up, then yes." I told him. "I have lived long enough to host a kingdom's worth in souls. The amount needed to make you strong enough to wield a greatsword one handed is a pittance to me." I held out a hand, in my palm a ball of white flame blossomed, floating above my gloved hand like a spirit and glowing softly like moonlight in the night.

Theon swallowed thickly, his eyes drawn to the phantom in my hand. "What is that?"

"The soul of a proud knight. Enough power in to make you a skilled warrior but little else."

His eyes would not be torn from the temptation, he didn't blink as he spoke, "What do I have to do? This surely comes at a cost."

I lowered the soul-fire, forcing him to look into my eyes. "You interest me boy. One day I may leave Winterfell. On that day you will join me, and travel with me. Perhaps when this time comes, you will learn that you are worth more than the name Theon Grayjoy."

Theon's eyes broke away as he thought.

"If you want to be more than a name, than crush the soul in your hand like you did the stone and I shall do the rest."

Theon trembled as he grasped the flame in hand.

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The servant's of Winterfell were apparently informed of my improved status in the service of Lord Stark, as I crossed the threshold back into the castle proper a few hours of wandering later, I was greeted by a maid of some sort who informed me that my lord was waiting for me in the dining hall.

Eddard Stark was giving me a stern look the moment I entered the hall. I was worried that some action I had taken had overstepped my place. "You requested me my Lord?" I asked respectfully.

"I was given three requests today. Would you know anything about them?" he asked.

"I could hazard a guess, but I couldn't say for sure."

"Bran, my youngest, seems to think that you will teach him magic. Master Luwin has heard of your magic and has expressed a keen interest in how you perform your arts. The one that concerns me the most is that my ward, Theon has expressed an interest in learning the sword from you."

I openly frowned, "Not meaning to offend, but I was hoping your boy forgot about that. He entered my room from the window late last night and demanded I show him a spell. Afterwords I lied, saying that I would speak to you later on. As for Theon," I continued, "I sparred with him for a time this morning, he impressed me with his skills and I said that he interested me."

"And what of Maester Luwin's request?"

"I don't see the harm in humoring his request, but a question first if you don't mind."

"What is that?"

I tried to keep a straight face, not wanting to look a fool when I asked, "What is a Maester?"

Lord Stark wiped at his beard to hide his grin. "Maester's are educated men from the Citadel. They aid the lords of the various lands in Westeros. To my knowledge, each Maester has certain fields of study. Luwin is one of the few who has studied what they call the higher mysteries. Magic much like your own."

"I see." I pondered if it would be smarter to reign in my displays of power, but alas I was relaxed. Two days away from Drangleic's nightmares had made me lose my edge. Not in combat, but in wits. Recklessly I agreed, "I will meet him later today if that is convenient."

"What is your intention towards Bran and Theon?" Eddard questioned, looking at me intently.

"I have no intentions towards your youngest. Bran is a skilled climber and a clever boy, but these are not the traits needed to learn magic. His soul isn't strong enough to handle what is needed to learn my methods of magic."

"And what of Theon?" the Lord of Winterfell pressed.

"His soul is broken. He had harbored much resentment towards your family, something I believe I have fractured if not broke from him. Theon held a deep belief that he was worth something to his father, and cradled that hope in his heart to shield him from all the loneliness he felt here."

"What do you mean? He was raised alongside my children, taught with them. He never wanted for anything." Eddard protested.

"But he is not one of yours." I stated, "Some of your household must be keen and quick to remind him of that fact, if the outburst of emotion I was witness to was any sign. It was eating at him from the inside. The way he was a kind word from his father would be enough for him to betray you."

"And you intend to correct this?" Lord Stark asked me, voice full of icy steel.

"I have already begun to correct the issue my lord." I said respectfully. "I pointed out the holes in the stories he told me. If his father's rebellion had succeeded then it would be less than a season before those they had enslaved would turn against them or someone killed his father for the crown. I am still sickened that his father would trade his son to keep power."

Stark's eyes narrowed, "How do you know this? Did Theon know all of that?"

"No my lord. I told you that much of my time in Drangleic was spent searching the kingdoms that came before. In that time I learned how to piece together bits and pieces of a story to learn about the past." I explained, "I took what knowledge Theon possessed and reasoned what was left unsaid."

"Oscar, is there ever a time where you will cease to amaze me?"

"I hope not my lord, the world would be very grim indeed if one of my make failed to amaze you." I was still re-learning humor at the time, so shut up.

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I arrived at Maester Luwin's chambers shortly after the cooks had delivered supper. The man was at work examining another of the Stark children, the one with the wild and bushy hair.

"It seems your foot is still swelling Jon." The old man stated kindly.

"Damn it all! When did Theon learn to swing a blade with that much strength?" Stark's child swore.

I knocked loudly upon the door's frame to announce my arrival. "That may have been my fault. I have been teaching Theon my ways of fighting." I informed them, unashamed.

The one named Jon was on his feat at once, "How could you teach him to wield a greatsword like he did in just one day?"

I shrugged, "For the same reason that I am here now. Magic."

Maester Luwin was cautiously excited, if there was such a thing, "Lord Stark told me that you agreed to be tested...That I can examine your magic?"

I nodded, "I see no trouble with it." I pulled another of the Yellow-white Lifegems from my pocket and politely handed it to Jon. "Here young Stark. Crush it in your hand, and let the Maester see your foot again."

Curiously Jon flinched when I called him stark, but obeyed. Had I known the mistake I was making, I would have made a better choice in words. The rock broke, and like Theon, he gasped from the surprise as the magic swept over him. The wound on his foot, a thick and bruised covered cut, sealed shut and faded away as the magic took hold.

"Amazing!" Jon proclaimed.

Luwin was impressed as well. "The wound healed, as if with great haste. Do you have more of those stones?" he asked.

"I have three kinds of them, the magic within them works at different speeds." I explained, handing him two samples of each, "The weakest can cause three ten-days worth of healing to pass in a moment, the next can cover a seasons worth, the last can cause a years worth of healing. Provided that there is no permanent injury, the magic of a lifegem will heal them."

"This stone heals all wounds?" The Maester wondered, "Could this be used to treat sickness?" Beside him, Jon was looking at one of the rocks with amazement, locked in a state of childish wonder.

"Sadly, no." I stated, "The magic of a lifegem will only heal physical injury. Poison, plagues or other ailments cannot be cured by the magic of a lifegem."

"Can you show me the strongest at work?" The old man asked politely.

I pulled another, brighter, lifegem from my pocket. Holding it in my left hand as I drew Blue Flame with my right. "Do you have a cloth or something for the blood? I would hate to stain your floor till tomorrow." Maester Luwin lay out an old blanket that had seen better years. I carefully pierced my arm with my blade, the sword sliding clear to the back of my arm. Blood flowed freely, dripping down to the blanket and pooling at my feet.

I inhaled sharply, the pain wasn't new, but wasn't the sort of thing one was ever used to. "Watch closely." I instructed. I pulled Blue Flame free, and instantly felt the weakness in my arm as the flow of blood thickened from a trickle to a stream. I crushed the gem with the last of the strength in my arm, and was glad when I felt the magic at work.

Luwin's eyes never blinked as he watched every moment of the healing. In turn, I watched his lips move without speaking, as if he were taking notes and memorizing every detail of my regeneration. "How many of these stones do you possess? Where did they come from?" He asked me, filled with energetic excitement.

I actually took a step back from the rabbit like man. "I'm not sure how many stones I own." I told him, "I use a spell and a bonfire to store my possessions. I collected hundreds of them." The look in the man's eyes scared me.

"Please, let me have more samples. This could be a discovery of the age!" he proclaimed, more excited than could be good for him. "Think of the number of injuries that could be treated with these gems. Battles would have less loss of life! It could forward medicine beyond the imagination!" Luwin sat in a chair, his face made blank by the revelations I had caused. Jon was sitting in the floor, his expression would lead someone to believe that his brain was on fire.

I never considered the reactions a common man would have to the magics of Drangleic, much less what a learned man would make of them. Luwin's reaction was just amusing to me. "I do have some other magics as well. Not physical things, mind you, but I do have a selection of spells that I can cast as well."

Luwin looked at me like I was a living library, filled with all the knowledge he could want. It was very unnerving.

Darkness fell and the moon had risen before Jon and I left the Maester's chamber. At the old man's urging I had cast my spells out the windows and at targets, all while he watched and made notes on his paper. It was odd seeing writings that I could not read. A small annoyance. I suppose I wouldn't speak the same language as him if it weren't for an enchanted ring upon my hand either.

Jon had spent his time watching us, being patient and simply observing the various sorceries. His request came as no surprise to me either, I could sense it building inside him as well. "That magic you used on Theon... Can you use it on me as well?"


	3. The Game Begins

No longer stuck in the cursed lands and fighting for my life I was able to relax for what felt like the first time in my life. Two ten-days passed by my eyes like the life of a candle. Under my guidance a few members of Lord Starks home had begun various studies. In the morning I taught both Jon and Theon the sword and at night I taught Maester Luwin spells.

My official title was the 'Thane of Winterfell'. My duty was to aid Lord Stark in any matters of military, and to uphold the king's justice in the north. I say official title, because the one many whispered behind my back was cup-bearer. It was no secret that Lord and Lady Stark and spent several nights awake, listening to tales of my adventures as we shared more than a bottle of wine.

They found my terrified tales of Tseldora to be a great source of amusement. The gasped in shock and surprise as I told them the fate of King Vendrick the First. They cried when I told them the tale of the Manscorpion Tark. The tales of various battles across the cursed isle became a ritual of sorts. Each night we talked, they told me of Westeros and I in turn told them of Drangleic and the destruction caused by the undead curse.

Occasionally, I was dispatched to perform some small service or another. Two days before everything became a disaster, I was assigned to investigate rumors of bandits on the Kingsroad.

Eager to test their skills and my training, Jon and Theon both accompanied me. It hadn't taken me long to realized that they were two sides to the same coin. Boys plagued by highborn names and the burden of thoughts that they would never be worth anything. I spent the first three days of training beating that non-sense out of their heads with the flat of Ruler's Sword.

It took us a day to ride out to where the bandits had struck and less than a half-candle's length to find them. The bait was simple: tied to each of our horses was several bags of scrap metal and a bag filled with broken chain mail and coin to sound like a sack of money. I carried a large bag that was filled with copper pennies. We visited three taverns and an inn, each time two of us would drink and brag about our newly gained wealth and the third would stand guard.

They ambushed us after the third tavern, and we recognized several of the dozen attackers to be men who had been drinking alongside us.

The sight of rusty steel and the rush of footsteps was the only warning we received. Their leader was a ragged man wearing old leathers with the remains of a chest plate attached, in his hand was a longsword that had obviously seen better days. His skin was sunken, showing signs of starvation. His face was determined and it showed in his voice. "Throw down those sacks and your coin and you can go in peace." He commanded.

"I suppose that there is no way that you'll simply walk away if we ask?" I asked, my empty hands raised. They had their steel drawn, we did not. I knew I could take their cuts and beat them bloody with little effort. I could not say the same for Jon or Theon, nor would I risk it without warning the boys first.

"We only want your wealth. We have no need to take your lives." Their leader informed me. "I say again. Drop your sacks!"

I turned to face the boys, "What do you think?"

Theon grinned, giving a casual nod. Jon smirked, "I'm not going home empty handed."

"Alright then." I turned to the leader. "I'm sorry about this. But my boys think they can take you." Quick as a dragon's jaw snapping, I grabbed Ruler's handle and pulled. The sword snapped from my back and her sheathe broke free to take flight out of sight. The enchanted blade cleaved past half plate and thick leather to break bone and rip flesh.

The leader dropped to the ground a wound running from his neck to his cock, a river of blood and guts touching the dirt as he dropped.

Jon and Theon performed much the same, drawing their longswords and spinning just a second after I pulled Ruler free. Their blades were fine steel and bit into their targets like they were cloth covered straw. Two more fell, freely bleeding from their chest or arms.

The others charged in, but with our steel free it was less of a battle and more a massacre. Eight of the men charged, but the ninth was what changed everything. He dropped to his leader's side chanting an incantation that I could barely hear over the clanging of steel. "-Lord cast your light upon this man, your servant. Brng him back from death and darkness! His flame has been extinguished, restore it!"

I did not see the resurrection, but I bore witness to the results, feeling the man's rusted blade bite into my side like a stone spike from the shores of the ocean. I turned, holding at the wound in my side and expecting reinforcements instead of the sight before me. The man with the broken plate mail was standing once more, his torn armor discarded. His chest was covered in ferocious battle scars. But one in particular frightened me.

The Darksign.

Burned into his left breast over the man's heart was a black and red scar that marked the man as a member of the undead. Life still shown in his eyes, but the scars of his vile resurrection remained. He had not yet gone completely hollow, yet somehow he had revived without a bonfire.

"Jon! Theon! Capture him alive!" I commanded, pointing at the other man beside him. The man must have revived the leader somehow, and I needed that knowledge. At once the other remaining brigands interfered, preventing the boys from following my command.

Recognition blossomed in the leader's eyes. He knew that I knew of our kin and kind. He snarled and charged, sword held steady to thrust at my face. I swatted aside the blade with as much force as I could muster, The rusted blade cracked but held before breaking. I rammed the pommel of Ruler into the man's face crushing his nose and eye, blinding him with pain and no doubt drawing blood.

The leader lashed out with his blade wildly while stepping back, the first swing nearly taking my eyes and the next nearly biting into my throat. I struck back, knocking aside his third swing with my bare hand. The gauntlets prevented any wound, and the sword finally shattered.

The loss of his weapon didn't discourage him, and he lunged, using the broken point as a dagger. He thrust at my face, forcing me to lean back or lose my eyes. Off balance, I couldn't swing Ruler without beginning exposed to a fatal blow. The undead pressed his advantage; grabbing Ruler at the base of the blade and keeping close, forcing me to dodge or knock his strike aside with a backhand. His strikes were wild and filled with desperation.

That did not prevent me from seizing his wrist as a wrenched Ruler free and shoved him back with a kick.

Ruler met his flesh a final time. Her point piercing him as I lifted, before bringing him down and impaling him into the soft soil until his back struck the dirt. Ruler's magic seared the flesh shut and burned him as he squirmed. The Undead was going nowhere staked to the ground by the length of my greatsword.

My eyes searched the battle with haste, looking for the one who raised the Undead. Jon and Theon were on their last opponents, and swiftly winning. His face was not among the dead, instead I spotted him fleeing, stupidly running down the open road rather than hiding. I drew Blue Flame, and felt the pull upon my soul as he launched the strongest soul arrow I could muster at the one who revived the leader.

The man had turned tail in fear and covered some distance down the dirt road, but the arrow was quicker and it's magic was hungry. The man's legs were caught in its power and severed at the knee, a trail of blood splattered the ground as he fell.

The runner cut off at the knees, Blue Flame had a chance to sing. The sight of another undead made my blood boil, I took no risks and cut the remaining brigands down with spell and steel like I had the thousands of foes before. The minor scuffle became a bloodbath as I struck with blows that would sunder steel, cleaving the men in half. Theon and Jon were both struck silent at the brutal fury that had seized me.

"Guard that monster" I told the boys, pointing at the still pinned leader. I ran to the collapsed man, hoping to find some clue or sign as to how he had performed his... miracle. It was to no avail, he had bled out from his wounds. I cursed, I sword, and I kicked the corpse several times in fury.

"What is it? What has happened?" Theon called hesitantly, still standing guard over the still pinned leader.

I marched back to the horses, a fearful scowl on my face, "Jon. Gather the bodies. Theon, go and fetch some oil from the tavern and light a torch. We need to burn the bodies as fast as possible."

"What are you going to do?" Jon asked.

I glared at the pinned prisoner, he was trashing as he tried to pull my greatsword from his gut."This monster has answers Lord Stark needs. I intend to get them."

As the boys followed my orders, I leaned over the leader. "How did you get that mark on your chest?" I questioned coldly.

The man didn't answer until I leaned on Ruler, forcing her edge to widen the cut in his chest. After a moment of screaming he answered, "The red priest gave it to me!"

I leaned on the blade again, earning another howl. "What priest?"

"You just killed him!" he spat, blood coming out of his mouth with the words. "By the seven have mercy! Please!"

I kicked him hard enough to hear the snapping of bone, provoking a mewling cry. "How did he give you the mark? Are there any others like you? Where did that priest come from?"

The man only whimpered, I stomped at the wound to make him talk. "I don't know!" he shrieked, crying like a child. "I don't know!" he repeated between sobs, "Don't hurt me anymore!" He begged.

I took a length of rope from my steed and used to bind his arms and legs tight enough to hold a giant, but I kept his hands free. "What is your name?" I demanded.

He was still sobbing but answered. "Keiv!" He answered, no doubt afraid of more pain coming if he didn't answer.

I placed a weak lifegem in his hand and crushed it, pulling my sword out as the magic kept the whimpering man alive. Theon had returned, the oil and torch ready. "Why are we doing this? What has he done?" he questioned.

I began hauling the other bodies to the pile that Jon had started. "He is undead. Cursed. And he has knowledge that Lord Stark needs. Light the bodies. The sooner they are dealt with the sooner we ride for Winterfell."

The bodies of the dead were burnt to ash before we departed, our prisoner strapped to my horse to prevent his escape.

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Luckily Lord Stark was just past the gates of Winterfell when we arrived, the Warden of the North was speaking to a merchant and blacksmith. Most likely settling some petty squabble.

The look on my face must have been grim indeed, for the moment he saw my expression he dismissed the pair and came to my side at once. "What is it?" He questioned, "Was there some trouble with the bandits?"

"I need several of your most loyal men to guard this prisoner at all times. He must be kept in chains at all times, behind iron doors if possible, and the sooner the better."

Eddard Stark looked at the ragged man with curious doubt, "What has he done to deserve such harsh containment?"

I pulled away the shreds of the prisoner's clothing to reveal the mark that resembled my own. "He claims a red priest gave him this." I spat, "Even if he doesn't realize it he has information we need."

Lord Stark wasted no time having the prisoner taken to the dungeons, calling over the gate guards to take him. "Assign ten men to guard this man, at all times. If he tries to escape he is to be killed immediately. He is to be given no food or water, nor his privy tended. Only Oscar or I are allowed to enter his cell at any time!"

The guards took the undead man away, and I felt more at peace with his presence gone. My mind was still racing, as my odd fear was becoming more credible. "Theon, fetch Lady Stark. Jon, find Maester Luwin. Bring them to Lord Stark's study at once." I commanded.

Eddard was as aggravated as I. I suspect that his thoughts were of a similar nature to mine, but we kept silent until we were behind the doors of the study. "Were there any more of them?" was his first question.

"None." I answered. "We burned the bodies as a precaution."

"I thought you said that burning the bones of the undead would create your bonfires?"

"I do not know the ritual to make a bonfire, only the components that make them. However, I could not risk someone raising these men either. It is my hope an undead cannot be made if there isn't a body to raise."

Eddard grumbled, pacing and thinking, "What did you learn?"

"The Undead said that a red priest raised him from death, and that the priest gave him the Darksign. I can only surmise that this means some faith out there has gained the knowledge somehow and using it for their own gain."

"Are you sure that he did not lie to you?" Eddard pressed, "This is a grave matter and we need to know what he knows."

"He is already starting to hollow, and his will is weak." I replied, arms crossed, "I was a bit cruel, perhaps, but I did use force to make him speak. He broke quickly from the pain, leading me to think he was little more than a pawn or experiment."

Lady Stark and Luwin entered, both short of breath. "What is it?" Lady Catelyn questioned, "What has happened?"

"Jon, Theon. Guard the door." Lord Stark ordered.

"Prevent anyone from listening in to our conversation." I added, "Kill them if you have to." Jon's eyes flickered to Lord Stark for an instant, but Theon nodded, ready to obey my order at once.

As soon as the door shut I answered Lady Stark's inquiry, "I have reason to believe that someone is making undead in Westeros. Contained in the dungeon right now is another like me, who is beginning to turn hollow. Under torture he confessed that he was given the Darksign by a red priest. I killed the one who he said was this priest so our clues in there."

"What can we do?" Luwin questioned. "How did you stop the threat in your homeland?"

"We need to contain them, and break them from the cycle." I closed my eyes, but still looked away. "There is a way to permanently kill an undead by force, but you need the aid of one to accomplish this."

I felt Lord Stark's hand on my shoulder. A small comfort from a friend. "To kill an undead and stop their resurrection, they must become fully hollow, then you must cut them down ten times without letting them know the touch of a bonfire."

Maester Luwin noticed the problem first. "How do we raise them without letting them touch the bonfires?"

I must have looked like a morbid sight as I explained the process. "I've never truly understood the magic myself. I do know that when an undead dies they can be made to resurrect my having another undead touch a bonfire nearby. When a bonfire is touched by an undead it releases an enchanted fog of sorts. The closest undead is completely restored from the edge of death. All their magic and health restored completely. The only exception being the damage from the curse itself. The slightest touch of the fog is all that is needed to raise a hollowed undead. "

"Shouldn't the fog restore them too?" Luwin inquired, as curious as ever.

"I never studied the bonfires." I admitted with a remorseful grin, "I learned some things from my teachers, but I am a fighter not a scholar. I just know how to permanently slay my kind, not the how's or why's."

Lady Catelyn was chewing at the fingernail of her thumb. An expression of deep concern was on her face, "What should we do with the prisoner? Is he a threat?"

"I doubt it my lady." I stated, "He lacks a strong soul and possesses a weak will. He has already begun to hollow. Within a ten-day at most he will turn hollow entirely. If we want to dispose of him this is the time."

Eddard was back to pacing. "Is there any reason we should keep him?" he asked me.

It was Luwin who answered, "We could keep him for study. Learn more about this curse and the magics behind it!"

I shook my head. "I've never known a man to study the curse, the soul or the arts of magic and not go mad." I argued, "I have taught you some sorceries, yes. But that knowledge will not protect you from all the danger that such research can cause."

Lady Catelyn gave me a queer look."You sound like you speak from experience."

"I have seen the end result of a man who studied the soul and ended up becaming tainted by the darkness." I shuddered, remembering the mass of souls that had once been a man. "Lord Aldia was the brother of King Vendrick the first. He studied the undead and the curse, overtime he discovered great magics and powers. It wasn't long before madness set in and he began creating monsters. When I saw him last he had become a mass of burning souls in the shape of a monstrous man's head."

An uneasy silence settled over us for a moment until Lord Stark finally spoke."He will be executed tonight, his limbs separated and buried outside of Winterfell."

I nodded, "I will handle the execution myself."

"What do we do with this knowledge?" Luwin asked, "Should I inform the Citadel? Send a raven to King's Landing?"

"Unless we keep our prisoner alive after he hollows there will be no proof of our claims." I stated, thinking hard, "It would be better if we warn of a new disease. The clear sign of infection is that they have a circular scar colored red and orange. We tell the people that the disease causes madness and scarring on the skin. If the people kill them before they know the touch of a bonfire, then the curse should not be able to take hold over them or the land."

Lord Stark nodded, agreeing. He looked at the Maester intently, "Send a raven to all the lords of Westros, the Citadel and King's Landing at once. Do as Oscar says."

"At once my lord." Luwin nodded, leaving the room in a hurry.

"What other protections can we take?" Lady Catelyn asked me, "What methods did the lords of Drangleic use to stem the curse?"

My response was as grim as it was dark. "They imprisoned them. Experimented on them. Butchered them. They lacked the knowledge I have, or they just didn't care. Drangleic's methods won't be much help to us. Right now we need to hunt down those that are experimenting with magic, the body, or the soul. Any showing signs that they are obsessed with flame, the dark, or magic need to be contained. Any that bear the Darksign need to be killed at once."

"What about the spells you were teaching Maester Luwin or the spells you use?" Lady Stark noted with a noticeable frown. "I know you've used some manner of magic on Jon and Theon as well. Are they suspect too?"

"I would think not. None of the three bear the Darksign, and none show signs of madness. Old age and youthful foolishness a plenty but not madness." I replied defensively, "The magic I used on the boys gave them stronger souls, something that will prevent them from being infected by the curse. What I am teaching Luwin is more risky, but as long as he is not a fool it shouldn't become a problem."

Lord Stark had poured himself and his lady a goblet of wine each. His face was told me he was deep in thought. "How do you strengthen the boy's souls? Another of your magics?"

I looked away, slightly guilty. "It is more the nature of the undead than a magic. I can use the souls inside me to strengthen them, and when I do it makes certain attributes stronger. In this case the boys are stronger and can fight for longer than most their age."

"Can you use this magic on others? Or is there some sort of requirement?"

"Normally only the undead can be empowered like this. I... created a way around it." I forced a soul to emerge from my palm forming the orb coated in white flame. "If you crush this in your hand, you will be imbued with the soul of a great hero. Then I can grant you power."

Lady Catelyn was back to chewing her thumbnail, "Perhaps we could use your magic to strengthen our men. Improve their ability to combat this threat?"

"I could do it, but it would drain me for a time."

"No." Lord Stark's refusal was like steel, "Doing something so rash would grant us a defense against the curse and those that spread it, but it would also make dozens of other foes as well."

The idea caught me by surprise, "What do you mean, my lord?"

Stark's face was irritated, "The lords of Westeros have a fragile balance. If the North started sporting invincible soldiers and tales of magic then the other lords would want the source. Wars have been fought over lesser gains. I do not doubt that you are a capable warrior in your own right, but I doubt you want entire armies trying to capture you."

The thought did not please me then and does not now. "Indeed. That would be a terrible number of lives wasted."

The door opened, Luwin shambling in wheezing and huffing for air. "Lord Stark! A raven has arrived with word from a patrol. A deserter from the night's watch has been captured. He has been claiming that the white walkers have returned!"

I did not take the news well, "Have him brought to Winterfell at once!" I insisted.

Eddard looked hesitant, "The King's justice demands his execution." he stated.

"He can still be executed as a deserter, but first we need his tale. If it is not a story, then we need to know what he might offer. These white walkers may be another experiment of this red religion rather than the monsters from your legends!"

"The law is clear Oscar. He is to be executed."

"The law doesn't state _when_ he has to die! Just that he must die!" I argued. "You made me a Thane to guide your forces and prepare you for the threat of the undead. Wars are not fought just with men and weapons, we need knowledge as well. Any information we can get on our enemies is one less surprise they can use against us."

To my surprise Luwin agreed, "Oscar speaks the truth my lord. The law does not specify a demand for an immediate execution. There is no harm in questioning him first."

The lord of Winterfell conceded, "Fine. Send a message to bring the deserter to Winterfell. We will question him and then execute both him and the wretch in the dungeons tomorrow."

I gave Lord Stark a small nod. "I think it would be best if we spent the rest of the daylight relaxing, lest this knowledge overwhelm us. "

Lord Stark agreed, "Indeed, I think I will take a long bath and rest."

"I must see to the messages, but then I think a nice story book would be good for the mind." Luwin stated as he left.

"Jon! Theon! Get your asses in here!" I barked. The boys rushed in alarmed, hands on their swords."Both of you are coming with me to the training yard. I feel the need to beat the shit out of something to relax and both of you are volunteering."

The two groaned together, and dragged their feet as the made their way to the training yard. Lord and Lady stark shared a laugh at the pair's expense. "How did you get those two so well trained? They were never this motivated or disciplined when Ser Cassel taught them the blade."

"They like me better, I suppose. Probably due to their first two lessons."

"What lessons are those?" Lady Catelyn wanted to know.

"That a name means nothing, and the only power a man has is in the strength of his soul."


End file.
